Crossing Streets
by LtLunacy
Summary: They're free. Free to touch and kiss and hold, and happiness finally seems in sight. Slash, Winters/Roe


The flat was small, with paint peeling from the walls and dust across the scratched wooden floor. It was quaint, almost cramped; but it was a fine size for two men. The heating was busted, but the windows opened, even if the hinges creaked under the strain. The front of built-up summer heat in their new lodgings was immediate, and the first thing Eugene had done was swing the window out and rest the bottom on top of a box. A cooler breeze began to filter in; Dick immediately went to open whatever other windows there were.

They didn't have much. A few suitcases, a couple boxes. Moving in was easy. The first thing they did was pull out the ratty mattress. The only had the energy to drag it into the bedroom before curling up and falling asleep, side by side. It was too warm for blankets, too unfamiliar for nudity, so Dick just locked ankles with Gene's and they waited for morning to come.

Dawn was pale, but cooler, and they woke up before morning light to get all the furniture in before the sun had time to flood them with oppressive heat once again. A small couch, a table, a radio, bed frame; then, it was just a matter of unpacking the smaller things. Clothes, books, bed sheets. By the time the sun began to set, Dick poured two glasses of champagne and they smiled and kissed and everything suddenly felt good. Great, even. Like they finally belonged to themselves, free to touch and kiss and hold without judgment or condemnation.

Happiness seemed within reach.

Dick took the job Nixon offered him in Jersey, and was doing pretty well, really. It was good to have something there, something reliable. No matter how many times he was told the depression was over, that the economy was booming and jobs were everywhere, he didn't believe it. But he knew Nix was his friend, and they were bound by war gone by. Nix would not let him down, or let him go.

Gene stayed at the apartment during the days, circling ads in pencil from the newspapers. Positions open for construction; seeing how the economy was 'booming,' more buildings were needed, and jobs came almost as quickly as they disappeared.

Dick would come home, shrug off the professional-looking jacket he felt was entirely too warm for summer, and smile when he saw Gene curled on the couch, newspaper forgotten on the floor in favor of book now in his hands, some snappy swing tune floating hazily around the room. He would make a good-hearted comment about what a great housewife he made, and Gene would throw either the book or newspaper at him [depending on if the book was really interesting or not]. But he always smiled, always laughed [and he would always say something back_, like you can cook your own damn dinner_ or _I'm not touching your laundry_, but they did these chores together all the time and Dick preferred standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover anyway].

And as Dick toed off his shoes at the door, he wondered at the fact he could be so in love with someone that loved him so sincerely in return.

Living in Jersey was so different from living in Pennsylvania. The city was crowded, dirty; smog lingered in the air, the streets acidic, the people too busy to wave hello or smile as they bustled down the boulevard. Dick missed the blue skies of Lancaster, the green hills and clear air and sunshine. It seemed the longer he stayed in the city, the more he romanticized his hometown.

He didn't tell this to Eugene, because he knew he probably missed Louisiana just as much. But it was tangible, this mutual pang of loss. A story would come up in conversation, about old streets or popular haunts, and then it died down and they wouldn't talk, just think.

But then, they'd be laying there in bed, and Dick would trace the contours of Eugene's face as stress dripped away in favor of sleep. He would see the peace on his unconsciousness features, untainted by hate, unmarred by nightmares, and he just knew that everything was worth it. Absolutely everything. Giving up the sky and soil of Lancaster was worth giving this man whatever small peace he could offer. He would never be able to return, not if it meant giving up all he had built with this man in this apartment in this city in this state.

Dick wrapped and arm around Gene's waist and buried his nose in the black hair, and he found home again.

He knew things would never be the same that day Gene came back from a job interview crying.

_They didn't want me_, he'd said, voice hoarse, eyes blank. Dick opened his mouth to let out a flood of smooth, comforting words, when Gene said, _They know._

_They knew? Knew what? How did they…? They couldn't possibly…?_ He was genuinely confused.

Apparently one of the men at the company lived down the street. He'd seen them walk together, talk with each other, hold hands when they were so, so sure no one was watching. There was something terrifying in the fact that they were being watched, that people watched them out of fear and disgust. It sent off bells and whistles of panic in Dick's mind, prickling the hairs of instinct in that surreal, chilling way.

But the eminent problem was to make the sadness go away, to bring serenity back to Gene's heart. Dick wrapped his arms around him and whispered against his ear. He felt the body in his grasp trembling, but did not hear him sob, did not hear him cry or complain. He could not help but admire his strength.

Fall came, and the air was crisper, no longer muggy and thick. They no longer opened the windows in the flat, as it was cool enough as was. Nixon told him snow would start falling in late October, just so he knew, and Dick just rolled his eyes and informed him they did, in fact, have winters in Pennsylvania. Nix just laughed and told him he oughta either get a new place with a heating system or buy himself a shit-load of blankets.

And, actually, moving didn't sound all that bad. Dick had saved a decent amount of his paycheck, since rent was low, he and Gene didn't buy much, and he took the streetcar to work on the days he didn't walk. Maybe they could move outside the city limits, where the air was cleaner. He told Gene about it when he was home and the former medic was making some spicy Cajun dish over the stove.

"About damn time," was the reply, accompanied with a small grin and a rap of the wooden spoon against the pot.

That someone would hurt him… it was unimaginable. Sickening. It was revolting coming back home to see a small crowd in front of the apartment building entrance. The instinct churning in his stomach, to protect and help and defend, was nauseating enough without the mantra of late-summer words of _they know_ whirling around Dick's mind. He ran. Sprinted towards the crowd, now just shadows of people running away, and it was Bastogne all over seeing his lover sprawled on a snowy backdrop, blood bright and repulsive on his pale skin.

"Oh, god, Gene…"

A soldier, an honorable man, so much better then those cowards, _those sons of_ – it was appalling. _Not a fair fight, not fair, oh, God, what is happening?_ The injuries weren't as dire as the horror was. People weren't just watching, they were acting upon emotions unjustified.

He couldn't be more terrified.

Snow came, and the windows of their little farmhouse were closed fast against the chill. The fire in the fireplace was out, the smell of smoke light and comfortable in the warm air. Lying there, under a front of family-old quilts, ankles locked and hands tied and breaths slow along bared skin, sunk in dark blue eyes, Dick felt utterly and completely at peace.

They were safe. This privacy, this newfound serenity, was no longer an idea, but a reality. It was odd, and Dick wasn't quite sure if he would ever be used to it. It was surreal, really. No more judgment, no more secrecy; they could walk down the trails of the little patch of tranquility they had bought and hold hands and touch and kiss and laugh all they wanted. Maybe they were barely getting by on mortgage, and maybe memories of loss and blood still haunted them both, but Dick was willing to give everything he had as long as Gene was. There were no words to describe it, but perfection was a good start.

Gene hummed a string of broken melody, pouring affection into the already-warm atmosphere. Dick closed his eyes, smiling, and traced little patterns on flushed skin. He traced his name [_Richard Winters_], then Gene's [_Eugene Roe_], then did it all over again with a little cross between the two. The idea of it made his heart swell and his ribs contract and he pulled Gene a few millimeters closer because it seemed so important that he do so.

"I adore you."

"I love you, too."

Dick was sure they could build a forever on those words.


End file.
